Tuesday, July 6, 2010

Contest: Bring On The Funny

Well, we're almost a week into July, so I guess I can't pretend that it's June anymore. Or that HALF this year has passed without me finishing a first draft. Remember when I wrote fast? Yeah...not so much anymore. That, plus I've been editing A LOT, which is the price to pay for writing too fast. Beware of that.

If I'm being honest, editing kind of puts me in a bad mood. I don't like that it does this, but I can't seem to help it. I have to work hard to keep my spirits up—extra anime binges, pizookies, hardcore exercising to counteract the pizookies, Final Fantasy, naps, etc.

I also really like to laugh. So since July is hereby being dubbed The Month of Critiquing (of my stuff AND others), I'm going to need lots of laughs.

This is where you guys come in. Oh, and the contest. (I'm sure you were wondering if I'd get around to that, huh.)

In my opinion, writing funny is one of the hardest things to do. Funny is extremely subjective. It takes a skilled hand to make it work and make it last. I happen to have very funny/witty friends as writers, and I'm constantly in awe of their mad skillz. So for this contest it's all about The Funny.

Rules: In 150 words or less, make me laugh. It can be an excerpt from your WIP, something written just for me, poetry, haiku, screenplay, recipe, whatever.

Simple, right? Mwahaha.

Deadline:Friday, July 9, at Midnight MST. Winners will be announced Monday, July 12.

Submission: A little different this time—please leave your entry IN THE COMMENTS of this post. I want to share all the funny stuff!

I don’t know what I was expecting? The Holy Grail? The Lucky Charms Leprachaun? Justin Bieber’s masculinity? I know what I was not expecting.

A boy.

“Shanice! Perfect timing!” Mrs. Richards came from behind her desk.

I’d been so engrossed in staring at the boy that I’d completely abandoned any attempt at stealth. He turned to look in my direction and I snapped to attention. Or at least, I would have snapped to attention of my head hadn’t been wrapped around the door. Instead, I jerked the side of my head full force against the door. Then I shrieked, staggered backwards, half-tumbled down the two steps leading to the office and nearly wrung my ankle in the hole that had been worn away from years of rainwater collecting at the base of the step. Well at least it wasn’t raining today or my ankle would have gotten a mudbath.

“You're not a coward, Lissa. A real coward would've turned and run, but you stood your ground, determined to protect us, despite your fear. That's what being brave is all about. I now know you are someone I can depend on.” Lissa felt her heart swell as Raine's encouraging words swirled through her. She didn't quite believe him, but she was grateful to him for saying it. “By all that is holy I swear – if I have to hear another word of this pathetic drivel, I'm going to stick you both with my knife.” Raine had dropped his hands at the first sound of Izabel's voice and he appeared to not quite know where to look for a moment. But Lissa, drunk with giddiness from her fear and gratitude, burst out laughing. The disgusted look on Izabel's lovely face brought her to tears. Although Lissa's laughter surprised Izabel, she soon joined in.

“Travis, I need to tell you something about me you don’t know.”“You’re a man?” “Uh, no.”“Ninja spy?”“Wouldn’t that kick ass?” I say, distracted. “But no.”“Then what?”“I can hear people’s thoughts.” “What am I thinking right now?”I delve into his mind, swimming around until I find it.“You want to know if I almost died.”He looks shocked. I’m not gonna lie when I can immediately be disproved. Do I have ‘stupid’ printed on my forehead?“Yes.”“Do it again.”“You want me to stay.”“You’re incredible! Again.” Now I’m entertaining a child.“Ew! You just farted.”“You’re amazing.”“If you tell me what you’re thinking, it defeats the purpose,” I say, smiling.“I meant it.”“About farting? I know, it’s taking over like some evolved chemical cloud in here,”“No, I mean about staying with me.”“I know. I was just being a smartass.”

Mrs. Schuster sat down and sighed. "I know all about my reputation in the neighborhood. Really, I deserved it. I was awfully crabby. I was sulking, you know."

Annie had never heard an adult admit to sulking before. She didn't know what to say. Luckily Mrs. Schuster continued.

"A few years back, my son and I had a fight . . . well, we can call it a feisty disagreement. That sounds so much better. He insisted I move to a retirement home. He drew up papers and everything, assuming I'd just go along, the idiot."

Jason kicked Annie under the table and they shared a grin. Neither of them were allowed to use that word.

"And then, to make sure I stayed good and angry, he put me on the mailing list of every retirement home in a fifty-mile radius. But look at me, going on about my life."

What the Peruvian saw next utterly convinced him that it was time to retire from archaeology and accept his brother Felipe’s open invitation to start a line of small dog clothing apparel, specializing in leggings and scarves. That is, if he could manage to survive the next five minutes. Three monstrous animals lumbered across the site. Someone must have taken the head of a hyena, stuck it on the neck of an ostrich and stapled it to the body of a raptor. “Reegh!” The lead creature raised up on its two hind legs and set its black eyes on him. Membrane skin whipped from its ears. The Peruvian’s eyes tried to cut their losses and pop out of his skull. He scrambled toward the closest hover truck. Claws forced him down. He breathed like a machine gun. Eyes black as the ocean floor stared back.

Today wasn't as bad as last week. When she walked by me, I was so nervous I forgot to breathe. I ran out of air and she raised an eyebrow and asked why I was smelling her. What? Smelling? No, I was just trying to keep it cool when you walked by.

She still sat next to me at lunch time. Not like she really had a choice, since there are only three tables in the break room. One has had mystery grease on it since Monday (and the cleaning people don't come until Thursday) and the second was occupied by Mike, who smells like he probably fell asleep at wherever he happened to be LARPing last night.

Lizzie used to talk to me sometimes. She would try and get the "Male perspective". I thought she might kind of like me until I saw the guys she hangs out with. I'm just the little morsel she gulps down between meals so her sugar levels don't drop.

"Ugh, you are such a perv! Stop staring!" I snapped my eyes up to hers, breaking my mealtime meditation. "What?" Liz moved to my side of the bench. I hadn't realized I was tracing the outline her bra makes under her shirt."

"I wish there was one guy in this world who would like me for more than my body".

Mike stuffed the rest of his sandwich as he muttered something like "You shouldn't dress like mahwhepmorra...." and a few other unintelligible things as he left the room. Liz glared at Mike's back as he left the room. I could feel her anger projecting out, into Mike's back. The air goes wavy, and Mike's clothing catches fire before he crumples to the floor

Three hours later, all of the women on Hamilton Drive knew every detail of what Cecilia Roundstone had seen on her visit to the home of Theresa Tennessee, who, they all agreed, was no longer able to take care of her estate, and, therefore, much less a fifteen-year-old daughter.

And so, the next morning, Mrs. Roundstone called the Brighton County Child Protective Services and told the case worker about the lawn, the fruit flies, the mosquitoes and the mouse, as well as the deplorable condition of Mrs. Tennessee’s hair.

“Have you noticed any cuts or bruises on the daughter?” the case worker asked.

“Well, no, of course not. But I don’t think you understand. Six months ago Theresa lost her husband and now she clearly has lost her mind. Her roots are grown out at least four inches. Four inches. Don’t you see the problem?!”

She retreated, shaking her head in disbelief. He steeped once too near, and she snatched a vase from a nearby table. Flowers and water spilled down her arm as she cocked it back to throw. “What’s happened to you?!”

This was taken from my ms THE EPITOME OF TRUTH as told from 17 year old Genevieve Rue:

Pressing my ear to the umpteenth door, I heard nothing. I tried the handle, expecting it to be locked-- instead, it gave way.

I stood there briefly, unsure if I wanted to enter. If I did, it could mean that I’d be spending the next week in there if someone walked by. Peering in, I caught my reflection in the glass of a double oven.

I barely recognized myself. I was the same person, my features still in place on my face, but I had transformed. Since I had left Area 5, I had probably gained about five pounds of muscle which was a lot on my small frame. The strap of the bag pulled my shirt sleeve up to reveal a defined bicep and even larger tricep. Even as stressed and pressed for time as I was, I took the time to flex my arms in a couple different directions.

I could get it down to 150, but since Nick's was so long... This is from my current WIP. A team of bounty hunters is trying to catch the protagonist in her hotel room:

“When we get up there,” Ying told Cai, “don't think about what we're doing.”

“What?”

“These yaomo can sense when someone wants to hurt them.” Ying checked in with his lookouts via radio. Four replies came back, all clear. The elevator dinged.

“What am I supposed to think about?” Cai said.

“I don't know. Puppies or something. Come on.”

They arrived at room 427, standing on either side of the door, guns in hand. Ying took a deep breath, then nodded. Cai had the door open with one swift kick.

They rushed inside. Ying fired at a lump on one bed, then scanned the rest of the room. The lump was just crumpled bedsheets, but the air conditioner was on full blast. Someone had been here, and recently.

Ying tried the radio. “Report.”

“All clear,” Feng said from the lobby.

Cai asked, “Don't they usually have TVs in these rooms.”

A second “all clear” came over the radio.

They do, Ying thought. Pinched between the dresser and the wall were two wires that looked as if they'd been ripped out of something. On top of the dresser was a piece of paper.

Jian Jun declared his fire exit clear.

“Xiao Han, report,” Ying said. He picked up the paper.

It was a note: Thanks for the truck.

“Xiao Han!” Ying ran to the balcony in time to see a black Vigo tear out of the parking lot. His Vigo. Han laid on his back in the parking lot, a smashed TV where his head should have been.

“I hear you made brownies for the village fete again,” Ben said, looking up from his incident pad. “What did you put in them this time?” “Cocoa, milk, eggs-““Tansy!”“A pinch of rosemary. Why?”Ben rubbed his chin. “The vicar thought they tasted funny and said he’d look into it. You want to watch out. You don’t want us searching the place again.” “I should think not. Police dogs everywhere and what did you find? Nothing!” Tansy folded her arms.“We found cannabis.”“All that fuss over one plant!” She looked away. "Did you enjoy the mushrooms?"

Love is like a cabbage, Many layers hide its core But the core pretty much tastes like the layers.

Or maybe it's more like an onion, Still with all the layer crap, But stinkier... And it makes you cry.

But it's also like green peppers,It looks pretty, But a bit of it thrown in on a pizza Can ruin it.

And love feels like pumpkins, too, All scary on the outside, Enough to pee your pants if you're too young, But when you open the lid, All you get is sloppy, gooey, slimy, hairy things That start to mold before Halloween is even over.

And it's sort of like cucumbers, Bitter on their own, But they taste okay with a little salt and pepper, Or in a mayo sandwich.

Hey, hope you don't mind me entering your contest when I've never commented before (I like to lurk). Cool blog by the way.

Any way, here's my slightly weird offering:

Mike always was stubborn. But to dig himself up and try to win my back with flowers stolen from his own grave? Too much. A week later, it was a rotting foot he proffered. “You’re a zombie, Mike—”” “I still love you.” “Should have thought about that before you went and died.” His face fell and he gave me that lost, albeit deceased, puppy look. “Don’t be sad,” I said, patting his shoulder. He pulled me into a hug and, ignoring the smell, it felt pretty good. Then I felt a slimy tongue slobbering on my neck. “You’ve got one thing on your mind!” “Please—” “You tried to eat me!” He shrugs. “And that’s the worst I’ve done?” Not even close. But that’s not the point. “You know, one day you’re going to regret turning down the only man who wanted you for your brains, not your body.”

Sure he was cute – brown curls, blue eyes, dimples – but he wasn’t called Devious Dylan for nothing. Still, soon Cammy would have enough money for the new Carter Brawn poster. Talk about dimples and puppy dog eyes…

“Here you are,” said Cammy, arms crossed. A mess covered the kitchen counter and Dylan.

“What’s this?”

“I feel bad that I used your book for a water gun target and that I threw your flipflop over the fence and…”

“I get it.”

“Truce?” He offered Cammy a sandwich. She bit into the soft, white bread. Tuna. Fishy tuna with a – bone?

Cammy’s eyes widened. She pointed wildly from the sandwich to the can labeled Feline Feast.

I'm certain to be the most amateur among these entries. My current job title has "writer" in it, but I assure you, it's a stretch.

Recently, I realized the absolute brilliance in the quote, "Youth is wasted on the young." Dealing with regret and facing a place in my life where I was forced to cut my losses, I imagined poem that was something like this…

This may not be laugh-out-loud funny, but I do remember smirking a lot when i wrote it...

Paper licked at Haloumi’s heels as he ascended the steps. Staples whizzed by like boomerangs, retractable biroes extended their tips and clawed at him, and photocopiers dashed the concrete walls in tumbling groups of three. When he reached the lift, he threw himself inside, seconds before an avalanche of stationery thundered against the metalwork.

The ponderous ascent to the nine hundredth floor gave him ample time to think about his predicament, but as he plucked at the paperclips dug into his back, an uncomfortable truth hit home.

Deano, you’re sitting on a dead horse.

Now he’d seen the creature, its glazed eyes seemed to follow him wherever he tried to squat, and when the lift door finally opened, the only problem he’d solved was where to crouch without splitting his trousers or feeling he was being watched. As interludes to pulse-pounding action went, it was far from ideal.

Here's an excerpt from the climax of my short story "Vegetable Vigilantes" Crazy, but I had so much fun!

As I stepped forward I slipped and almost fell. Tiny radishes and brussel sprouts were strewn beneath my feet.

Suddenly, the ceiling fan switched on high. Rutabagas came flying off the fan blades toward my head as they picked up speed. I ducked and then caught one in the blender on my hand. I flipped the switch and the rutabaga was quickly shredded and liquefied. I grabbed at the celery, but the stack toppled over out of my reach.

Desperately I grasped at the closest vegetable. My hands closed around a green pepper. I threw it over my shoulder and into the processor on my back. Then, squeezing the trigger, I blew its sliced and diced pieces over the battleground my apartment had become.

Just then the microwave buzzed. The door flew open and a kamikaze potato exploded, sending burning hot, mealy starch toward my face.

Forest snorted. His eyes flicked over the chaos of my desk, scanning the folders piled around a jumble of papers, glossy pictures, and newspaper clippings. I watched him absorb and catalogue each piece of clutter, as if I might see the individual wrinkles form inside his skull.

"It's a shit-astrophe in here," he said.

"Is that your favorite word?"

"How you going to find a file when you need one?"

"Please, these cases are older than me and colder than Donny. No one gives a rat's patoot about them, except maybe you."

natalie whipplesat by a thimblefilled with jam and wasabishe dipped her dainty fingerinto the mixtureand called the cabana boyfor some currythen cindy pon enteredin a string bikiniwith no stretchmarks or anything!hello darling gorgeous thingcindy blows kissesis it saturday have you posted a drawing?with an eloquent wave of her handnatalie said: sit down, i'm about to brunch.and lunch? cindy replied, with hope in her eyesnatalie nodded, and sup and tea!cindy wiggledclapping with gleeher bikini top nearly fell offbut it's okay, there's nothing to seeas natalie clanged silver cymbalsin filed an endless string of #cuteasianboysbearing trays of delicious delectablesfrom sushi to thai currybulgogi to udonmapo tofu, cold soba, hot tea!natalie and cindy dined in a blissbut made sure they left room for something sweet

This is a shortened version of a true story written about my older sister.

My sister was looking in the mirror at her new dress. I got so sick of hearing, “Oh my gosh don’t you love it?” so, I moved her away from the mirror and into her room. Right away, she was back. “I have a tiny problem. Guess what it is,” She said. I had no choice but to answer, “What?” “You have to guess.” She whined. “Your bed is dirty?” “Nope.” She said putting an extra pop on the “p“. She was now running messing with the lanterns again. She stopped and started messing with the straps. “You can’t get your dress off.” She sighed, “I think that if I twist like this…” She twisted and as if she had super-powers, the dress came off. “I’m Magical!” She pranced out of the room. After twenty seconds of silence, she was in her doorway in her bra and underwear playing air-guitar.

My boyfriend Chris took me out to our favourite restaurant for my birthday. It was a busy night and the restaurant was packed! Unbeknownst to me, Chris had arranged a birthday surprise but unfortunately, the waiter got the timing wrong. Chris had just gone to find the bathroom when the cheesy happy birthday music started and I was presented with a small desert with a candle. The entire restaurant turned to look at me sitting all on my own. I even heard a “awww, she’s all on her own”. I had to address the entire restaurant by saying “No, it’s ok, he’s just gone to the bathroom”. When Chris came back, the waiter realised what had happened and apologised profusely. He took my desert away and then proceeded to play the music AGAIN. Thankfully I got my desert back but I died of embarrassment. Not once but twice that night.

Whee! Fun! I love Angela's poem, by the way! This was an essay/blog-post-type thing that I did for fun a while back. There are five steps, but I'll leave you with the second one... it's where I am right now, so it seems funnier to me.

How to Become Certifiably Crazy

*Warning: this process involves dangerous substances including but not limited to very sharp pencils, plot outlines, sixteenth drafts, and acrid keyboard smoke. People with preexisting conditions, such as adolescence, should not attempt it.*...

...Stage 2: Revise the first draft of your novel. This requires reading it, at which point you will discover the age-old truth: all first drafts smell like Chinese restaurant dumpsters. For the full effect, take breaks to read your favorite witty and heart-wrenching novels. Finish by passionately declaring utter self-worthlessness and canning your draft deep in your computer’s “Do-Not-Admit-Existence” folder. Ripping up a printed copy and flinging the shreds into the wind can be therapeutic; however, most neighbors do not appreciate massive quantities of litter in their begonias. This author recommends double fudge brownie ice cream.

Natalie Whipple

I am an author and card-carrying nerd. My favorite areas of the nerd realm include anime, Korean dramas, good cheese, and playing mmorpgs with my family. I take pride in writing the weirdest books I can think of, and my novels TRANSPARENT and BLINDSIDED, HOUSE OF IVY & SORROW, and RELAX, I'M A NINJA are just some of my wacky ideas.